A baker street scrapbook
by MDHammer
Summary: A little collection of oneshots from Holmes' perspective, only has so far but more will come. I don't usually write from Holmes POV but I'm hoping to get better. R&R I'm looking for anything you'll throw at me here.
1. He's Leaving Holmes

A/N: A Holmes' view of Watson's marriage type fic. Spare me some slack on this one, though, because it's more of a serious tone than I've ever written for Sherlock Holmes. Y'ever think how crappy the movies would be if they'd made them in the present day? Half of it would be CGI or it would be animated, and Holmes would get a love interest we've never heard of and he'd be all angsty with emotion for like, ever. Or he'd get with Irene Adler shiver. HE FEELS NOTHING AKIN TO LOVE FOR HER. Watson said so. Lolz, here it is- most clichéd fic EVER.

A/N: P.S.! I figured how to get that nasty first line thing out and the chapter title is very clever (sheah, right). It's a pun of a Beatles song! Yay!

Watson is getting married.

How lovely.

I knew I shouldn't have bothered with people. They always leave.

It's human nature, I should think. I don't really know much of human nature being that I'm so different.

That's why I will never fall in love. People are as clear to me as mud.

I mark other men out to be fools, but how should I know? Love seems worthwhile to them.

What is love? And how would I know if I ever knew?

Watson says that a man simply knows. As if a thought or feeling could be generated that a man cannot explain in words and he could possibly know what it was, or that any other man could know his was the same. And they could call it by one word and it could justify to one standard and that no one would challenge that it was anything but a brief lapse in his judgment.

Watson says you have to feel it to understand it. I understand loss, though I have never felt it.

But perhaps I am feeling it now.

Watson says that when he saw Mary he just knew. I am even less of a believer in what has been so dubbed "love at first sight." How could you see someone and know you loved them before you'd even been introduced? I did not see Watson and know we would be friends. I did not know until just now that we were, but I suppose I am not so fallible as to think something I did not mean.

Like Watson is doing right now.

How on earth could they decide to get married? How could I work without him now that I work so well with him?

Good lord, what if they have children?

Then it will be all he will think about, he will have to work longer hours and come home to a wife no longer happy to see him simply because he is home but because he has the bread and cheese to momentarily cease their wailing, nagging, wagging tongues.

And he won't be happy.

But he won't be able to ever come back to me now. He is choosing her over me.

What one Earth does that bloody Mary Morstan have that I do not? Besides the obvious… She is a woman.

I should have known she'd play dirty.


	2. Not Dead Yet

A/N: Wow, thanks. Y'know, TWO people added this to their fav. list. That's more than EVER, alright! Okay, I didn't write it that way but this one turned out to be a 221 B response, so enjoy an accident. Though absolutely pathetic in content it maybe hasn't been done before. Holmes realizes he doesn't have a very long shelf life, set on the ledge over RF. A little short though...

Disclaimer: I'm sorry, Holmes, it's not you, it's me. Actually, it's not even me, it's ACD.

Ah, there's Watson. I wonder how long it took him. Bless his soul; I may not see him again after this.

I live a rather dangerous life, don't I? I wonder why I find that appealing. Why do I feel like I should have died just now?

When I was young- Goodness, youth has gone now has it?- Well, it was foolish never to tell him. I knew it would have to end like this, with him believing me dead whether it was true or not.

I did not want to expire, I knew I would but I did not thing they would have to throw me out before my time had come. But I was certainly useful.

Moriarty is gone, and somehow, miraculously, I have survived.

How can I be alive if I am forgotten?

Certainly, Watson will move on. He has Mary, after all. And Lestrade is almost good enough to figure some things out on his own.

I do wonder about his wife, though, but somehow she will pull through. And I'm sure their marriage will be happier. Maybe Lestrade will be promoted for 'solving' my murder.

But Watson will not forget. I know he won't… Because I know that I will not forget him.

There will always be a chair in my brain attic for my Boswell.


	3. Shave Ice

A/N: Okay, wayyyyyyyy more emotional than it was supposed to be. In my opinion, best one yet though. In the beginning it's cliché but it gets better… I think. REVIEWS! FEEDBACK! ANYTHING! 3 thanks.

I do believe Watson has just saved me.

Look at him there, the syringe in his one hand and my cocaine in the other. I do believe Watson has just saved me.

Ah, he's not backing down either. He's just thrown them out of the window. He can be a funny chap, Watson can. I shall have to see if he managed to break the bottle. It may still be salvaged. I will not take it, though…

He seemed satisfied, really. A little scared, maybe. I suppose he's wondering if a man in withdrawal will hit him for stealing his 'stash'.

I do wonder why he is so cautious. Perhaps he does not realize how much he has changed me in just a few minutes. Watson and his little parlor tricks, always managing to surprise.

I have read some of his notes for his next story. "Weaned" me off the drug, surely. And then we all skipped down to Buckingham palace and had tea with the queen, and all was right as rain.

He looks even more nervous now that I have done nothing. Perhaps I should hit him, for thinking that he should play student and I shall be teacher.

I have learned more from Watson than he ever has from me, and perhaps one day he will make a decent man out of Sherlock Holmes. There is nothing I can show Watson that is beyond him, nothing I can do or act on that he cannot.

Watson has taught me more than I can ever repay him for.

Watson has taught me how to learn.

"For god's sake Holmes are you crying?! It is only cocaine. I will give you one month and in that time you may choose between us, me or the cocaine, because surely one of us need go."

"That is not necessary Watson, I have made my choice."

"Wha- fine. I shall pack my things-"

"Are you going somewhere on holiday Watson?"

"I- Oh." His eyes widened a bit in an expression of relief and surprise. "But then why-?"

"You got cocaine in my eyes as you so needlessly swung for the syringe. That is all."

"Oh. I-I'm sorry Holmes," Watson said, guiltily, quietly. I could not bear to face him like that, I could not bear to tell him the truth. What would I say to him anyway, 'Sorry I lied, Watson, you're not a total cock-up, in fact you've just spared me several brain cells. I only act like this because I don't know how to act any other way towards you because you're the biggest thing in my life since it began.' No, that sounds just right. Why the deuce am I crying? What has he done to me now?

Watson and his parlor tricks, turning handkerchiefs into doves and stones into people.


	4. Listen to the Bees

A/N: Originally titled 'big yellow taxi'. I like it, but chapter 3 still rocks. I'm kinda-sorta maybe getting the hang of this. Oh and I know that some of the things in here don't exactly line up with the time-set of the canon. So sue me.(please don't)

They comfort me, the bees, now that I am without my Watson. They buzz back and forth, humming, busy with their little chores. Sometimes when I am completely absorbed in them I do not realize that he isn't there.

I suppose it is because the bees and I are like Watson and I in the beginning, observant of each other, cautious, but not to the point of avoidance.

And I suppose the bees are even more like Watson in the respect that they do not see me as their master but are not mine either. There is a mutual respect, but always a reverence for me that is as substantial in its basis as is a palace built on air.

If they got their act together they could surely rid themselves of me, and when it's cut down to the quick I need them more than they need me. Still, they stay, but surely not for the same reasons that dear Watson stayed as long as he did.

I do wonder why I am thinking of him so much today. More than usual, anyway.

Oh dear, dear John Watson. So essential to everything stable in my little universe. Like the flowers are to the bees, without them they cannot eat, they cannot sleep, they cannot possibly exist. I suppose at some point and time, if Darwinian Theory pulls through, we will find that long ago bees could exist without flowers, but the could not now that they are so dependent on them.

Just as now I struggle to exist without him.

I am sure that if he were here he would not be the pathetic sod I've become from our separation… But he would still care.

He's always cared. From the beginning he worried over me, in the smallest of ways.

I always look at the smallest things first, don't I? Perhaps that is the reason I could never see the big picture.

Doesn't it always seem to happen that I never know what I have until it's gone? I suppose I shall go back one day, if I last long enough to gain the strength, and in the place of 221 Baker Street will be some confounded hotel or something ridiculous like a tree museum. As if anyone would pay to see that.

And Watson may not even be in London. He may not be anywhere.

I remember the night I left London. I hailed a large cab with the most ridiculous yellow wheels. Watson, bless him, is so much stronger than I. He laughed about my 'big yellow taxi' and waved me off.

Oh dear god, I know why I am thinking of him today. Today is the anniversary of the day we met. I remember one year in which he took me out to dinner to celebrate it.

"Hello! Mr. Holmes? Anyone in?"

A young, round face dappled with freckles dipped round the corner of the house, and the package boy Billy Nelson appeared carrying what I deduced was my latest delivery of jars, I would have to start jarring the honey soon and packages were arriving almost daily from companies in the city. I was seeing a lot of Billy Nelson lately.

"Sorry, Nelson. For a fleeting second I thought you were- well, it isn't important. You may leave those jars where you stand now, I know they're heavy."

"Aow no, sir, these ain't ya jars. You gots TWO packages to-day, sir. I left your jars at the Post seeing as my bicycle can only carry one package at a time and you was all that I had to deliver to to-day so far, I figured I'd make two trips. Thissun is from a Mr. John H. Watson. It's not at all heavy, sir, so I'll just carry it to you."

It wasn't heavy. It was post marked two days previously, and it lay in my lap for some time after the boy had left. Stunning, how things can happen exactly at the times they need to. I wonder why that is?

I opened the package. Inside was simply a note.

"Why it is elementary, my dear Holmes. Happy Anniversary."


End file.
